


Kiss It Better

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Extra Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was not unusual for Molly to tend to Sherlock’s cuts and bruises after a case. And it was not unusual for her to be irritated at him for being reckless. But, it was different and Sherlock was baffled by her anger. One thing led to another and he found himself confession his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhAine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhAine/gifts).



> For the wonderful OhAine. I went a little off the beaten path and I hope you like this silly version my sleep deprived mind had conjured. As for me, I havent' stopped giggling, yeah... I need sleep...

She was terrifyingly silent. There had been no words, no slap he was accustomed to and no hint on her to which he could decipher, and perhaps try to understand her train of thought. She worked meticulously and efficiently, cleaning his wound with great care and precision that would make any trained physician years her senior to shame. She was good at what she did, her work had been exemplary. But, that was not why he came to her. John or Mary could have attended to the cuts. He could have even called Mycroft to send over a physician to his side or worse come to worse, Wiggins could have sewn him up.

 

He came to her. He made the conscious decision, pressing on his wound as he hailed a taxi to her flat. She didn’t protest, didn’t fuss, she just stepped aside and let him into her home. It was cold and clinical, he hated it. This was not Molly Hooper he had known for the better part of almost a decade. He winced as she dabbed on a cut a little too hard, her eyes flickered up to him for a moment, assessing. And then she returned to her task.

 

“Molly,” he place his hand on her, stopping her from cleaning the wound.

 

She turned her gaze to him, the vacant look in her eyes were unnerving. He was certain he had done something to offend her in one way or another. John and Mary had both repeatedly reminded him of his crass attitude. Even Mycroft had berated him for it; citing death did nothing to improve his manner. It was one hell of a blow to hear from Mycroft who had no qualm being a calculative person at a flick of a button. What was worse, he hated even his big brother knew better than him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, not knowing why he did. But, for the reason he should.

 

She cocked any eyebrow at him; a flash of anger crossed her eyes. He realized he had definitely done something to offend her. He just had to recall which instance it was. It can’t possibly be the idiot he had chased away the month before; she didn’t care for him and was glad to see him go. He could tell because instead of the haunting funeral-like music playing in her morgue, she had been content to listen to the radio.

 

“Why are you sorry?” she asked and he sighed. There was no way around it, she knew him better than he knew himself at the best of times.

 

“There’s a good chance I might have said or did something…” he tried helplessly. His eyes begging for her mercy which he knew she was not keen of granting.

 

No, she was not. Her gaze bore into his, the kind that confused him further. She was a riddle wrapped in an enigma rolled into temptation. “Try again,” she said, her voice was cold and distant. It was not dripped with worry as it usually did.

 

He was anxious and at wits end. What could he have possibly done for her to be angry at him? He had not broken into her flat in six months. Wiggins had not used her lab to run his curious experiment (she had scolded at him; ‘it said Sherlock Holmes on the paper, not Sherlock Holmes and his apprentice of the week!), he knew better not to test her limit in that regard and he most certainly had not in any way implicate her in any form of active or unsolved cases.

 

“Drawing up a blank?” she asked, right on the mark.

 

He shrugged.

 

“Sherlock,” she said, slipping into her usual tone, “this is the third time this week and seventh time this month I find you battered at bruised at my door. To top it all off, it’s usually at the wee hours in the morning,”

 

“Did I disturb your sleep?” he asked, though he doubted it himself. Molly was a light sleeper to begin with and she never really slept unless she had a long holiday. Years of medical school and residency had taught her a rare skill of falling asleep anywhere at any time, but alert enough to sense some form of emergency even in her own flat.

 

She sighed in frustration; “Do you have a death wish?” she asked harshly, “Are you that bored after you brought down your archenemy?”

 

“I…” he was at lost for words, blinking rapidly.

 

“Have you ever thought about how I feel?” she asked another question, her temper was flaring but there was something else. Anxiety, etched deep in her voice, “I kept wondering whether I’ll wake up to a call telling me your body was just rolled into the morgue,” she said, slumping into the sofa, “I know I’m definitely not on your next of kin contact, but Sherlock. What if I find you on my slab, dead?”

 

 

She was worried about him and she was angry he was reckless with his life.

 

“Molly,” he said, reaching for her hand but she batted his arm away.

 

“I’m furious at you. I can’t even look at you right now,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and inching away from him.

 

“Molly,” he called again, trying to pull her back to him.

 

She turned her body, avoiding his reach, “No. You don’t get it. God, why am I even still in love with such a selfish man!”

 

He caught her words, she didn’t until she spoken them. Horror washed over her face, but he smiled in return. She hadn’t stopped. He thought she had and all he had done after he had ensured her safety was giving her the space (somewhat) she needed, and not press his growing feelings onto her. He had tried to be a gentleman for the first time in his life and realized he didn’t even have to. She was still in love with him and despite the aching pain from the bruises and the sting from the cut, he found himself smiling like a complete idiot.

 

“Why are you smiling?” she huffed, annoyed at him.

 

He started to laugh. He was laughing at his own stupidity, why didn’t he just ask her? He knew why. Fear, he was afraid she would reject him. It would be understandable as well, he had never been very kind to her or was ever considerate of her feelings, romantic or not. He shouldn’t have listened to John for advised, Mary was right. He made a mental note to consult the nurse and former assassin if he ever need to in the future.

 

“Sherlock,” she said, frowning, “are you on drugs?”

 

“No,” he shook his head. He inched closer to her, she didn’t move. She studied him as he leaned into her, as if he was to kiss her. He didn’t, instead he brought up his injured hand up and pout, “It hurt,” he said, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. There was no doubt in his mind she was making a mental note to get him to pee in a cup in the morning. “Not on drugs,” he said, attempting to convince her, “I was just thinking John probably owe Mary ten quid,”

 

“Huh?” she replied intelligently.

 

He stayed still, not moving an inch further. “I’m in love with you, Molly Hooper,” he confessed, uttering the words he had at the tip of his tongue and desperately wanted to say. It was ridiculous; he never wanted to say it before, not the words. Not in that context, not for anyone.

 

She blinked again, surprised this time.

 

“Molly,” he called softly, “I just told you I love you,”

 

Her reaction, though surprised him, was not at all unwelcomed. She leaned into him, kissing him soundly and he would have loved to keep kissing her if it had not been for the damn cut on his lips. So, he pulled away, wincing. Damn timing.

 

“Sorry,” she squeaked.

 

He grinned like a schoolboy. “Kiss it better?”

 

She blushed so easily and he loved it. Despite the apparent redness on her cheek, she leaned back into him. He sighed as she pressed her lips tenderly on his and was begging for more when she pulled away. How she turned him into a puddle with just a couple of kisses was beyond him. Yet, he didn’t care. A bigger smile was spread across his face when he opened his eyes and found her staring back.

 

“Better?” she asked coyly.

 

He feigned as if he was thinking, “I may need a second or third, or maybe even a fourth dose,”

 

“For the record, I’m still angry at you,” she said in return.

 

“Understandably,” he said, nodding. “Would it make you feel any better if I promise to let John take the beating from cases next time?”

 

She giggled, “No, that’ll worry Mary,”

 

“Mycroft men or the yard can take the punches then,” he agreed readily and leaned back into Molly, “Now, where were we?” he asked, his lips turned upwards into a smirk when her eyes widened and her face turned redder than he thought possible. “Right, my second, third, fourth and further subsequent dosage, feel free to start here,” he said wickedly, pointing at the base of his jaw.

 

“There’s not even a cut there!” she protested.

 

“A pre-emptive dose?” he teased. Of all the days he imagined of being free around her. She knew who he was, she knew his brand of humour and she understood him best. It didn’t matter whether he had told her sooner. It mattered that he said it.

 

She shook her head, slowly backing away from him. “Nope,” she said, teasing him back, “that’s not what the doctor’s order,” she added, giggling as she tried to make a run from him. He caught her before she could, pulling her back onto the sofa and kissing her soundly before wincing again.

 

“Kissing with cut lip, not practical,” he groaned and she laughed, finding humour in his annoyance, “How long would it take for it to heal?”


End file.
